Tales of a past life (Goku Black & OC)

The Distant Past

He was laying with his back against the cold wooden floor, as the moonlight seeped through cracked open windows. Eyes closed, his mind begun to drift towards his past, towards the days of a life he felt that no longer belonged to him.

He didn't remember exactly how it felt, being one with his alternate self, what he remembered clearly was the wave of power that surged through their entire body, he remembered the feeling of superiority, and yet, he also remembered dread. Visions. Visions of a female figure dressed in black from head to toe, just as himself, but something felt off about her. If he was more superstitious he would have said she was a bad omen, like a warning, in the form of something akin to a ghost. He started seeing her in his nightmares too, he remembers a time when he woke up screaming, so shaken, that not even his companion could calm him down, in fact, it took all night for him to regain a bit of his composure. He had forgotten all about that during the fight with the mortals, but yet, it was still there. The feeling that something was wrong, that it shouldn't be like this. The visions of the woman, with an expression that was a mix between sadness and curiosity, right out of the corner of his eyes. That bugged him, more than he cared to admit.

But his counterpart, or, to be specific, what he felt was the escence of his counterpart, begged to differ. Such a powerful internal conflict it was, that it ended up reflecting on their physical form. The left side of this new body felt like it was constantly burning from the inside out, and their powers became more and more difficult to control, at least, that's what he thinks it happened, because, as far as he could see it, all the odds were on their side.

And yet, they still lost.
Against that saiyan, no less.
The physical pain of being literally cut in half was nothing compared to the humilliation, the shame, of being beaten by that same mortal whom he had defeated so many times. He felt the dispair as his mind slipped into darkness.

Then, he woke up again.

He was dead, for sure, but what striked him as odd, was the fact that when he looked down on his body, he was still wearing his black combat gi. He touched his face, and felt the sharp features of the saiyan face that he had stolen. He was still in Goku's body. But, no, he shouldn't be. Wasn't this supposed to be his soul? He wasn't supposed to look like this, to feel like this.

Suddenly, his hands were being tied against his back and he was forced to be on his knees by some kind of gargoyle thing, and his head was being forced up. When he raised his gaze, he saw a big, and tall man looking at him coldly. Then, he talked.

"Who the hell are you? Whe-"

"Take it easy, Zamasu, you have no power in this place."

He was about to reply, when he felt a sharp pain on his head that forced him to close his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, there she was, the same woman from his dreams, smiling sheepishly at him, and asking him to stay silent. He complied.

" Are you even listening to me, you arrogant bastard?!"

That scream was enough to snap him back to reality. Well, sort of.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." He said, absentmindly.

The man looked at him, perplexed, took a deep breath, and then continued:

"I usually am not this rude towards newcomers, but your sins are so grave, that the mere sight of you makes me sick. Let's not prolonge this any further. I hereby sentence you to Hell."
The tall man said this while putting a stamp on a document, and then he called for the next soul to recieve their judgment.
He was still looking at the woman as her face darkened when she heard the sentence. Before he was tossed out of the line by the creatures holding him still, he heard a voice, a soft whisper, echoing in his mind, that said:

"I'll try to get you out as soon as i can, Zamasu."

Afterwards, he lost consciousness.

The rest of the time from there was more or less a blur, as he did remember flashes of moments, but what he remembers best, is the pain.
Whippings, burning, drowning. Every torture he coukd possibly imagine,done to him by the same humans he had killed. He was being forced to suffer twice the pain he inflicted to the humans. He saw their rotten faces, as if they were some sort of reanimated corpses, heard their screams in his head constantly, as he was held in chains, chains that he could not escape of, for he no longer was able to use his powers. He was at the mercy of these creatures, feeling more humilliation and agony that he could possibly describe.
Then, they ripped his shirt off, leaving his back exposed, and pierced it off with some sort of blade. He couldn't stop the tears from comimg out of his eyes once they started to break each and every one of his ribs and made a deeper and deeper gash on his skin. As he blacked out once more, and felt his back being slowly torn in two, leaving his orgams exposed, the voices and faces of the mortals were replaced by all of the deities he eliminated during his Zero Mortals plan. Before slipping into the blissful darkness, he was able to catch what the others where shouting.

"The Blood of The Traitor must be spilled!"
"Death for the Traitor Zamasu! Unworthiness must be cleansed!"
"Let the Blood Eagle stand as a symbol! Traitors must die!"

When he regained consciousness again,  he was no longer in that place. He was laiyng on  a bed, his upper half still exposed, yet covered with bandages, with what he felt was a wet cloth on his forehead. He tried to open his eyes but everything seemed to be covered by a white mist that made it impossible to see properly. He was about to raise himself from the bed, but he felt a hand, covered in what seemed to be a leather glove, gently push him back to the bed. As his eyes were closing, he felt a voice softly whispering to him:

"I'm sorry it took so long. I'll make it work. You're safe now."

As the days went by, he regained control of his mind and body bit by bit, and was informed of his new situation. Apparently, this woman was not a ghost of his imagination, she was very much alive and real, and focused all of her efforts during three months im trying to brimg him back to life. Yet she didn't used the Dragon Balls, or anything similar to them,she had being using an imperfect method of her own creation. That much was evident by the stiches that were covering his body and keeping it on one piece, and the fact that his eyesight was not getting better. And judging by the amount of weird things and papers all over her desk and some parts of the floor, this woman was a sorceress or necromancer of some sort, and she brought him back to life using her powers and tecnology.

Over time he managed to learn how to observe his surroundings without depending on his sight, regained his abilities and almost complete control of his ki. And also, had a very extensive training on new fighting techniques, weapon welding, and of course, magic, of all kinds. Though he didn't excel at that one, he had to admit.
The woman that took care of him when he was at his lowest point, became sort of his teacher, especially in the ways of magic and creation, and at the end of one of their training sessions, they began to talk.

"So, i think i never asked your name".

This surprised the girl, that was making tea for both of them, she calmly smiled and replied.

" I have many. Though, i prefer to be called Stella, or Amy, for now. I'm not used to be called the same name for long. But, what about you? I mean, i know your name, but do you want me to call you like that?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then spoke:

"No. I really don't. You can call me whatever you like, but please, don't call me Zamasu. I don't feel like that name belongs to me anymore."

"So, do the names Black, or Rose, fit you?" Said Amy, as she put the tea tray on the table.

He smirked and open his eyes, completely white, and a smirk crossed his scarred face.

"I think Black suits me pretty well."

He was still deep in thought, when he heard a knock on the window next to him, that brought him back to present time.

"Hey Rosie, time to go, or we'll never arrive there!" said the smiling face of Stella, looking at him through the window.

"I'm going, i'm going!" said Black, as he rised from the floor, put on his white mask, and raised his hood above his head. The woman did the same in the other side of the house.

"See you later, "Guerrier de l’ombre".
"See you later, "fantôme".

And with a swift movement, they parted ways.